September 13: Monday (Well, Sunday) Morning Quarterbacking.

I always think I could have gone a little bit faster. But if I could have, I would have, right? At the time of the run portion of the race, I absolutely couldn't (or didn't want to) push any faster. Turns out there were 106 guys in my division, and 3036 racers overall. My official results were as follows:

Swim: 23:27, 58th out of 106. Probably the best swim I've had in years, and maybe the best I'll ever have.

T1 (Transition One): 1:37 There was only one guy with a faster first transition than me. I change clothes fast...

Bike: 1:02:10 (about 23.8 mph) Fastest bike split I've ever had at that distance. Must've been the chocolate waffles.

T2: 1:10 Again only one (different) guy faster, so I get the transition title. Yippie.

Run: 40:26 (about 6:30/mile) 26th fastest run. Pretty disappointing for me. I've done that run 3 minutes, or half a mile, faster.

Total time of 2:08:48, 33rd out of 106 in age group, fifth American, 373rd overall out of 3036. The guy that won my division went under two hours by a minute. The fastest overall amateur went 1:53:26. He is 23.

So top third of my age group, much better than I expected, and despite the poor run, I'm pretty happy. If they keep having the World Championships in nice places, I'll keep coming back if I qualify. Next year is Hungary (I'll pass...)

Some folks asked me to elaborate on some of the technical aspects of racing, in general, and at this level. Here are a few tidbits, just in random order as they come to me:

• The swim can be really scary if you panic. We saw a guy in the sprint race this morning turn back, grab a lifesaver surfboard, and rip off his wetsuit because of a panic attack. I know of one guy in my age group that did not finish because of sea-sickness (it was a little choppy.)
• There was a point in the middle of the swim where my hand hit bottom. We were in the middle of the bay. I thought it was a big fish. It made me swim faster.
• I came out of the water 58th, but started the bike in 45th. Can't tell me transitions don't count for something.
• Our bikes are carbon fiber monococque frames, with carbon fiber wheels, saddles, and handlebars. They weigh about 16 lbs, and cost as much $10,000. If you get a flat, we have co2 canisters with sealant in them to repair the damage, but in this short of a race, you would lose too much time to stay in the hunt.
• Our shoes are clipped in before we start, and we rubber-band them in position so they don't spin when we're running through transition. We jump on our bikes at a full run (yeah, can be painful) and slide our feet in as we ride. reverse the process for the finish.
• Our running shoes have elastic laces, so we just slip them on. Running is the least technical part of the race, but my racing flats are kind of interesting, about 4 oz. (your work shoes weigh about 16 oz each) and the upper portion is made of Tyvek paper. They only last about 60 miles.
• Nutrition is taken through liquid form, or in little energy gels, like Hammer Gel, which was all over the course and race expo. It's actually made in Whitefish, Montana

There were other Montanans who did a lot better than me. Brad Leondard (from Missoula) placed third in the Men's 75-79, and I believe Molly Hayes from Bozeman may have gotten on the podium in the same age group for women. Megan Fischer from Missoula won the women's A5 (amputee) paratriathlon. She is Montana's first World Champion, I believe.

We watched Nathanael place fourth in his division in the Sprint World Championships this morning (exactly half the distance of what we did yesterday.

Mostly, we just ate today. I had a major meal every three hours, and did some damage to the Sheraton's Sunday Brunch Buffet. I call the day after a race Food Profit-Taking day. I get to eat and drink whatever I want. I managed to induce food coma at least once.

We're off to the awards banquet, for a big Australian barbecue and some team uniform-swapping. Looking for an authentic Aussie racing suit. Hopefully it's been cleaned.

One more update tomorrow, then this show is closed. Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the support.

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SEPTEMBER 12, RACE REPORT: This Will Only Hurt For a Couple of Hours...

Dr. Jim Oury

I usually wake up on race morning with a mix of dread, excitement, and purpose. Today, I just felt relaxed, which was good because I would need some level-headed coolness before the day's event even started. I got up early and borrowed Nate's bike (he's racing tomorrow in a shorter event) to warm up and get muscles firing. We arrived at the transition area about an hour before my start, a little late for an important race, but the bike was already checked in the night before, and I really had nothing to do but place my running stuff, and finish my warm-up. Or so I thought...

The World According to Garp: I'm Pre-Disastered!

The only thing that can wreck a relatively short race for me would be a flat tire. Doesn't happen very often, but if it is going to happen, it might as well be before you start. As I prepped my bike and transition area, I happened to check my rear tire, which was completely flat. 30 minutes before my start, I tracked down the race mechanic, and we manically changed out my tubular, glued up the replacement, aired it up, and hurried back to transition. The mechanics wanted to know why I wasn't completely freaking out, asking why I wasn't "uptight, or did you have a beer last night?" When I answered in the affirmative, they deemed me "an honorary Australian, and pre-disastered, like the plane that hit the house in the World According to Garp! You'll fly now, mate!"

Swimming in Triathlon is a Full Contact Sport

The 80 or so guys in my age group spread out in a single line across the beach behind a white rope. As the gun sounded, we bounded into the shallow water and began a 200 meter scrum to the first buoy. I am a relatively weak swimmer, particularly at this level, but I was committed to not giving any ground. As we rounded the first buoy, I had already been wrestled, punched, groped, and swum over. At one point I was going to ask the Brazilian who was continually placing the leading part of his stroke right between my legs if he wanted to buy my a drink first. I countered the barrage by throwing in a surge, and managed to jump clear of the melee and catch on to the back of a mid-pack group. I felt pretty good, and kept catching toes to draft, and jumping from one small group to another. We hit the beach in a little under 25 minutes, and I set to taking advantage of one of my few skills in the sport, the transition.

The act of going from the swim to the bike may seem insignificant, but if you can peel off your wetsuit, don your helmet, and perform a flying mount faster than your neighbor, it's free time that gets you out of sight and mind. Shoes already clipped into pedals, I got up to speed quickly and slipped my feet in and pedaled off in pursuit of the rest of my group, 50 of whom were already ahead of me.

The Bike: International Formula One

Picking my way through the Aussies, Kiwis, Brits, Mexicans, Germans, and whoever wears light blue and yellow, I was reminded how diverse my competition was. Triathlon cycling (at the amateur level) is an individual time trial, and "drafting" is specifically prohibited, and enforced by officials on motorcycles. The problem with a world championship race on a tight, flat course is that we are all relatively the same speed, so bunching up (and drafting) are inevitable. Avoiding the 7-meter zone in back of the next rider is achieved by either passing (within 15 seconds) or dropping back. I spent a little over an hour pushing through groups of drafting cyclists, burying my quads and glutes in a world of trouble. The lack of hills contributed to one of my fastest bike splits ever, and I finished with Misters Fiore, Brugget, and McKenzie from Australia, Pena from Mexico, and Dodds and Dixon from New Zealand.

Slipping our feet out of our shoes with about half a mile to go, we rolled back into transition and slid off our bikes, racing to our rack spot and running shoes. A cloudless and windless sky (and the too-tight Team USA speed suit) was starting to make things a little warm.

The Run: No Walk in the Park

Running is usually my best leg of a race, but the recent weeks of injury had negated my leg speed and endurance, and I was disappointed that my decent effort in the swim and bike was going to be let down by the one thing I can really rip into. That was apparent within the first mile when I was (gasp!) passed by three of the guys I had finished the bike with. I did my best to hang on, running hard through the crowded, cheering sections, and regrouping and recovering when no one else was around (which wasn't often, with almost 3000 of us crowded onto the double 5K loops.) It was pretty obvious to me I was at my limit, and starting to overheat, despite the fact that I was moving a lot slower than I wanted, or was capable of.

Again, I was struck by the truly international competition, as thousands of Australians cheered for the 900 or so of their compatriots in the race. Kids and grownups alike would shout "Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!" as their mates ran by, who would in turn respond with a stout "Oi! Oi! Oi!" Equally stirring were the chants of "Go GB" for the Brits and "Good on ya, Kiwi!" for the rival New Zealanders. Even a few "Go USA's," though they don't have the authenticity of the nations who really live for this type of sport. There were a fair number of racers from Northfolk Island, a protectorate (and former penal colony) of Australian. Their uniforms were screened with a small quote on the rear that said "Every time I say 'exercise' I have to wash out my mouth. With chocolate." Pretty funny.

I mustered up a fast last mile, and hit the finishing chutes (now lined with thousands of cheering spectators) and tried to pick off a few more guys in my age group. My swim, bike, and transitions compensated for my lousy run and got me to the line in 2:08:48, 33rd place, and fifth American in my age group (I had qualified about 15th.) Much better than I had expected to do, but I had left everything on the course to do it. It was definitely an improvement in placing over my previous efforts at Worlds, and the time was within a minute of my fastest time ever for the distance, set in my late 30's.

Aftermath: Burger and a Beer, and Watching the Pros

My dad finished about two hours later, wearing his traditional straw cowboy hat, which clearly endeared him to the crowd. We gathered our equipment and a couple of cheeseburgers and cold drafts, and plopped in the sand to watch the pros navigate a similar course about 20 minutes faster than me. The new world champion is a 21-year-old kid from England named Alistair Brownlee. He ran a sub-30 minute 10K (that's under five minutes a mile) at the end to run away from Spain's Javier Gomez, and he looks like he should be bagging your groceries at Super One and reading Harry Potter books. Nice dinner and a slide show at a place called Felinis with Dad, Nate, Andrew, Sabina, and their friends Heather and Lats (see yesterday's entry), and now writing you.

As usual, I ran through the gamut of emotions on a big race day: anxiety, confusion, confidence, disappointment, success, humility, and ultimately gratefulness for the privilege of competing in such a beautiful city, against such great competitors, under sunny skies and a shower of shouted encouragements. At the finish line, a Kiwi named Murray Lapworth, grabbed my shoulder and said "Well done, buster." Simple acknowledgement, an understatement of the vicious (well, to us, anyway) two-hour battle that had just left us blistered, burnt, and beat up.

And to think we had paid for it!

More re-cap tomorrow, plus a report on Nate's race, and a final tally of our fundraising effort (never to late to donate...) Thanks for your thoughts, prayers, good energy, lighted candles, or whatever you sent my way today. Whatever it was, it worked...

Jeremy

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SEPTEMBER 11: All Quiet on the Eastern Front

I usually take off the day two days before a race, and then start ramping it up the day before. We are less than 24 hours away from the start of the 2009 ITU World Triathlon Championships in Gold Coast, Australia, and the day before is a chance to check equipment, loosen up legs and arms, and try hard not to look at the competition, no matter how lean/tan/fast they look.

We started today with a quick warm-up on the bike, and a swim of about half the course, then grabbed some crepes as we watched the World Junior (under 23) Triathlon Championships. It was a good motivator with watch these youngsters rip through the same course we amateurs will navigate tomorrow. They are faster, more precise, and a lot less wrinkled. We are smug only in the knowledge that we have steady incomes. They race for food.

I had a final test of my previously-injured leg along the beach; everything feels fine, and I'm ready for "a rippah." We turned in our bikes to the transition area (quite a site to see 2500 carbon-fiber 401k's all lined up and ready to be stolen by an enterprising gang of GC youths - don't laugh, it has happened) and headed to the hotel to rest, and to stress out, and in my case sit down and write this salvo while having a Pure Blonde (relax, it's a lager) and listening to the surf of the eastern Pacific while my dad takes his third nap of the day.

This journey started a year ago at Nationals, where I miraculously qualified, and was put into full forward motion by Youth Homes Development Director Ramey Kodadek. She, and her cause, are the reasons I am here. I am proud to race for the US, but in my heart I am racing for a group of kids who only want the stability of a home, if only for a night. It is a worthy cause, and it gives needed meaning to the selfish pursuits of training and travel and competition.

So I have a few people to thank, on the eve of the race. Thank you, Ramey, for the inspiration to do this, and for organizing the fundraising, publicity, and awareness. Thanks to my family for putting up with missed dinners and general lack of attention from me over the past few months while I prepared. Thanks to Tony Schiller, John Humble, Christoff, Team Stampede, and Red Barn Bicycles for coaching, training, and outfitting me for the race. Thanks to Nate, and my dad Jim, for travelling and racing with me, and to my small circle of new and old friends (you know who you are) who have been supportive, patient, understanding, and enthusiastic, even if you didn't know what a triathlon was.

Most of all, thank you to you, dear reader, who has kept up with my ramblings, and put your wallet (and heart) on the line for Youth Homes. Your support means the world to me, and those kids.

OK, time for a last supper (not really) and the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Or something equally stirring. I'm open for suggestions...

Next update will be from the finish line, or the medical tent.

Cheers,

Jeremy

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SEPTEMBER 10: To the Races, and the Miami Beach of Australia

Two days out from the race, which for me means a complete day off of serious training, and a three-hour drive from Noosa to Gold Coast. Just to ensure our run of good luck continued, I let Nate drive the rental car, while I navigated (screaming "Stay left! Stay left!" for 200km.) We arrived at the Sheraton Mirage Resort around noon, met up with my father Jim, and headed to the race site across the bay for registration and a preview of the swim course.

This is where the nerves start. It is a little intimidating to walk into the race expo and immediately be confronted by thousands of participants who are obviously in better shape, and more focused, than me. I say that not with false modesty, but with real, palpable FEAR. These guys (and gals) are ripped, trained, tapered, hairless (more on that tomorrow) and tight-jawed; they all look like if you asked them the wrong question, they're drop their $10,000 carbon-fiber rocket bike and chop you one across the throat.

Nate, Dad, and I went through the athlete registration formalities, got all our numbers and computer timing chips, and jumped in the Broadwaters Park bay, only to find the water...cold. There is a rumor that the water is hovering around 22 degrees Celsius, which is the ITU cutoff for allowing wetsuits for the swim, something that would help me immensely (the buoyancy of a good swimming-specific suit is worth 2 to 3 minutes on a 25 minute swim.) I was thinking of bringing a few buckets of ice from the hotel to the swim start tomorrow morning, where they will make the final call...)We practiced swim starts (running into the water from the beach, hoping to dive at the right time and avoid scraping our noses on the bottom) next to Jan Frodeno, the German who won the gold medal in triathlon at last year's Beijing Olympics. 6'4", 175 lbs, all legs and muscle and...just limbs. Looks like he was born to do this.

We donned our Team USA polos and khakis and headed the Athletes Parade of Nations. They really do make you feel like a big shot here, and each nation marched into the race pavilion lawn under klieg lights, kind of a mini-version of the Olympic opening ceremonies. Some nations (Samoa) had one athlete, while others (Australia) had a contingent of 400+. The New Zealand men's team stopped the procession to perform a Haka, the traditional Mauri war-dance that involves stripping down to loin cloths and chanting menacing battle-cries with precise defensive stances, in unison, with eyes wide and tongues sticking out. Like I said, I'm a little intimidated. The opening ceremonies included addresses by the ITU president, and the mayor of Gold Coast, and a tribute to a recently fallen triathlon legend. I ran into a few Montanans who are racing (Montana Mollie, a 78-year old perennial national age-group champion from Bozeman, and Meg Fischer, an amputee para-triathlete from Missoula competing in her first World Championship. At registration, she had to lift up her pant leg to "prove I was a peg-leg," as she put it.) The ceremonies were capped off by indigenous Aboriginal dances and fire ceremonies. Loud and eerie and totally fascinating.

Nate and I hung with a couple of Kiwis from our age group, friendly blokes who embody the inclusive camaraderie of triathlon. Make no mistake, these are the same bastards who will crawl and claw right over us at the swim start tomorrow, and then buy us a beer at the finish and say "Good on ya, mate. Thought you were having a pee, so I scooted by ya..."

Nice dinner at a posh spot on the bay, and then another early turn-in. By the time I figure out what time my body clock is really on, it'll be time to go home, and I will have completely missed out on the night-life of the Gold Coast. I actually like the sleep, though...

The self-absorption of the day was subdued by the news that a mate of our hosts (Andrew and Sabina) suffered a bike crash, and during a brain scan was determined to have a major brain tumor. Puts our efforts in perspective, for sure, and reminded us of the relative lack of importance of what we are doing here. Or maybe, more accurately, served as a reminder of our opportunity to do things for others. I get pretty caught up in the minutiae, and Andrew's mate's struggles are a critical wake-up call for all of us. Best wishes to "Lats" and his family, please include him in your thoughts and prayers. He will be operated on next Monday.

Last day before the race tomorrow, I'm off to bed with a belly full of snapper, and a refreshed perspective...

Jeremy

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SEPTEMBER 9: Running About a Quart Low...

Nate, Dr. Peacock and Jeremy

Sweet! surfing shot of Jeremy and Nate

Nate and Jeremy- heading out to catch some waves!

Jeremy, Nate, Dr. Peacock and his lovely wife Sabina

Jeremy and Nate- taken' it all in!

Jeremy and Dr. Peacock- waiting for some waves

Nate, Dr. Peacock and Jeremy- the end of a killer day!

Today was our last day in Noosa, a final bit of preparation away from the actual race site of Gold Coast. We started the day with another long surf/swim session, this one complete with dolphins and sea turtles. We managed to surf ourselves to near exhaustion (or hypothermia) and finished up with a black rice sticky porridge. Lest you think I am just on a surf trip with a race at the end, keep in mind that the wave-play stuff has a definite purpose for me; my best swim times in races have occurred right after extended periods of time in and around surf. The repetitive arm stroke of paddling has a definite relationship to my swimming stroke.

Midday was reserved for some work on the bikes, and I took a short run to the Noosa Aquatic Centre, which boasts two huge outdoor pools (a 25- and 50-meter) and complete locker, fitness and restaurant facilities. It was about $4 to use for the day, and I ripped out 2000 meters of intervals and ran home while the pool filled with school-age water polo players.

Coastal Australians have a rich history of water sports, surf-lifesaving, surfing, open-ocean kayaking, and various other forms of play and transportation in and around the ocean. Our host, Dr. Peacock (and his wife, Sabina) swim early morning three days a week, and Andrew uses the "off" days to practice surf-ski (kind of a long and thin open-hulled craft.) He belongs to a typical regional surf club, which houses his craft, and provides him with a base for operations for his various pursuits. I've run into bike shop owners who are planning on racing this weekend, and everyone seems to know about the triathlon championships. I think the average local here has at least four sports or hobbies.

There was an entire retail outfit on Noosa's posh Hastings Street that was dedicated to merchandise commemorating the country's history of surf-lifesaving called Between the Flags (a beach term referring to the allowed water activities - surfing, watercraft, swimming - and where they may take place based on the safety of the conditions.) Can you imagine a US retail outlet based on the athletic history of a public service? Maybe someone should open a Smokejumpers Store at the mall in Missoula...

Having grown up in Southern California, I am familiar with the beach lifestyle, and the active nature of people who have grown up in and around the water. But these folks seem to have taken it to another level, and it is most obvious in the everyday participatory sports like surfing and swimming; everyone here has at least a modest level of skill, and many are more than proficient. I saw a group of stand-up paddle boarders (kind of a bigger, thicker surfboard one stands on and paddles with a long carbon fiber paddle) working the Tea Tree lineup from outside to shore, as if they had been doing it for years. But these guys were teenagers, and the sport was only invented about five years ago! In the pool today, everyone to either side of me was as fast or faster, and with much better technique, which isn't saying much, but I'm the one here competing in the World Championships. They were just on their lunch break, and all were fairly business-like in getting in their yardage, grabbing a veggie pie and getting back to work. I was there for the purpose of training and fine-tuning, and getting my confidence in the water up to an acceptable level as I prepare to get pummelled on Saturday. I am in full panic-cramming mode now, as if anything I do this week will somehow actually help my performance.

Which is all to say, I'm ready for some rest, and some fluids. Seems like we do something about every four hours, and that we are in a constant state of re- hydration. The hosts are putting snags (sausages) on the barbie (you knew I would have to use that expression at least once, right?) and the local brews and wines have come out of the pantry. Tomorrow morning we rent a van and load up the bikes for the trip down to Gold Coast, where the environment will be a little more tense than Noosa. I'm ready for tense.

Thanks again for the continued support, our goal is slowly being met! You can check out the progress by hitting "Click here to support Jeremy's Efforts" or on the main page and scrolling down. We have also updated the website to reflect the "off-line" donations!! Getting closer and closer thanks to you!

Until tomorrow,

Jeremy

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SEPTEMBER 8: Enough Already...This Seppo's Worn Out

I might be wearing myself out, physically. I have decided that I could not do the professional athlete thing for a living. Besides the fact that I've never had the required skill, I don't think organizing my entire day around workouts would keep me interested for more than a week. I need work, and strife, and intellectual chaos (somewhat fulfilled here by remembering to ride on the LEFT side of the road - only really becomes an issue when one gets into a roundabout, which the Aussies have replaced all their intersections with.)

After a night of pouring rain, we started off the day's training with a 40K bike ride to Booreen Point at Lake Cootharaba in the Great Sandy National Park, an inland set of tributaries set in everglades. Our hosts had rented a skiff to take us across the lake and up the river to a point among the flowering lilies where they would drop us off. Intent on giving us the full Australian jungle experience, and without any mention of what potentially lurks beneath the canopy of the everglades, we were given a map and a meeting point, and 7K of twisted, overgrown, rooted trail. Miraculously we arrived amongst monitor lizards at a dock just as Dr. Andrew was pulling up, and skinny-dipped into the river. Aussies don't have many inhibitions, and if you show any of your own, you are likely to be teased mercilessly. Not even the presence of 20 or so kids on a canoe trip could invoke modesty. Ridiculous amounts of exercise, public nudity, and turning everything into a competition are simply Australian characteristics, and I had better get used to it. We picnicked at the dock, and headed back to Noosa.

Requisite evening surf session at Tea Tree Point (even more fun than the previous night,) and then our first evening out on the town. Really great food and environment, and our discussion turned to the Aussie tendency to nickname everything. Some are cute and obvious (a wetsuit is a "wettie," sunglasses are "sunnies") some a little less obvious (the menu had a section of "sticky's" at the end, which is dessert. It also logically called appetizers "entrees," and main courses "mains.") Then there are some that are just weird (you put your beer and ice in an "eski," which is short for eskimo cooler) or derogatory (Americans are called "seppos" by local surfers - seppo being short for septic tank, rhymes with Yank, as in Yankee. Yeah, kind of a stretch, but they take great delight in the convoluted progression...) Anyway, after sticky's, I was chockers (full) and knackered (tired.)

Funniest thing I've seen in relation to the triathlon and training (oh yeah, that) has been the sight of cyclists with dozens of zip-ties protruding from their helmets, kind of a spiky adornment that gives them the appearance of a porcupine. The purpose of the spikes is to keep territorial dive-bombing magpies from swooping down and attacking the noggin of the cyclist, which apparently is perceived as threatening the birds' nests. I wouldn't have believed this until I saw a postie (postman, on a small motorbike) repeatedly attacked by a magpie as he motored in front of us. Of course, one of local Aussie Rules Football teams is called the Magpies, a mascot that is now infinitely more ferocious than I had previously thought. As one of the fans' signs read during Sunday's playoff match, "Go Pies." Now I get it.

Tomorrow should be the last day of workouts in Noosa, then we will head down to Gold Coast for race registration, the athlete's parade, and final preparations for the triathlon.

The articles in the Ravalli Republic and the Missoulian brought some great response in the form of contributions; thank you for your support. There has also been a fair amount of offline giving, and some pretty good betting and incentive for me to "try a little harder" come Saturday. Keep it up, we're almost there.


Until tomorrow,

Jeremy

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SEPTEMBER 7 Training Day, & a Break From the Sun

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I got a chance to test my injured leg today (pulled soleus a few weeks ago in training, and aggravated it during the Bitterroot Classic Triathlon) and things went well. Looks like I'll be able to get a few short runs in before the race. Running is my weapon in this sport, as I usually get out of the water fairly far back in the pack (more so in international competition), move up a bit on the bike, and then start passing most of my age group on the run. That's changed in recent years as I've worked on the bike and swim, but I still tend to rely on my strength to move me up in the standings.

None of that will make much difference here, as the caliber of competition is far and away better than I am used to. Being a medium-sized fish in a small pond like Montana gives me a false sense of security and accomplishment, and I am always a bit humbled as I switch to national and international races. Gives one good perspective, though. Also keeps me focused when I am training, which this week has been as consistent and high-quality as anything I've gotten in the last three months. I know we are supposed to be "tapering" for the race (dialing back the volume of training day-by-day leading up to the race, and keeping the intensity) but our hosts and their friends are such athletes that even the most benign activity turns into a major effort.

It was rainy most of today, but warm enough to run and ride in it. After a short run, Sabina (our host) dragged me and Nate up the coast on an hour-plus ride, and we through in some fast intervals on the way back. Here's the part where you get to be jealous of what I'm doing here: We hop off the bikes and put away our gear, and Sabina sets up her table and gives us each 90-minute deep-tissue massages, one after the other. I wish I had gotten into this sport earlier, when I could have justified this sort of professional treatment. I'm at the World Amateur Championships, and I have my own masseuse, cook, photographer, and coaches. Going back to my real job next Tuesday is going to suck.

There's a little bit of sabotage I manage to do to myself every time I go to a major race. I always think it is going to be a good idea to get a haircut right before the big event, and I always manage to pick the wrong place, with the wrong stylist, and I walk out looking like a pineapple. Today was no exception. If I was counting on any Samson-like powers of a full head of hair, they are now sitting on the floor of the Quickie Men's Hair Salon in Noosa, Australia. Good thing they make us wear swim caps and helmets in the race. I guess it does make me faster...

Homemade calzones, and Aussie cable shows tonight. Even their TV shows are based on outdoor activity. When do these people sleep, or work? Last serious day of training tomorrow, including a ride up to an inland lake and river, and a run in the everglades.

Jeremy

Sept 6 The Fittest Place on Earth

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This is ridiculous. I am used to being called out (or made fun of) for my overly-active lifestyle, but here on Sunshine Coast I am just another moderately mobile human.

After my relaxing arrival day of ocean swimming, a long walk, a bike ride, and some therapeutic massage, my hosts decided to ease us into the evening with a sunset surf session at Tea Tree Point, a classic right break located on the edge of Noosa State Park. We passed young families, with kids and parents toting boards, as we headed to the beach. It was like they were going to the supermarket: "C'mon, quick surfo for you kids before beddie-bye. Let's go, everyone in the ocean..." Parents paddled out and pushed kids into waves, while Nate and I traded classic longboards back and forth and tried to regain our feel for the water. Dr. Andrew snapped pictures with his 100/400 lens, and we surfed right through sunset, shivering in the spring breakers. There was a koala in the trees above our car, a sight Dr. A says is not all that common.

Sabina and Andrew cooked for us and we all hit bed early, me because of jet lag, our hosts because of a 5:30am 4000-meter swim workout with the local masters program. This is emblematic of the entire culture here; a 90-minute coached swim, thrice a week, is kind of ...normal. I skipped the swim, slept in, and wandered down the village for coffee. At 6:30, there was a group of 40- to 60-year-olds just walking up the hill from a beach "boot-camp" workout. Everybody does something of active significance every day here. It's just part of who they are. I actually felt like a slug for missing the swim workout, so I picked up the sports section to further research the Phenomenon of the Annoyingly Fit Aussie.

15 pages of the morning paper was dedicated to Aussie Rules Football final series, the equivalent of our December/January NFL playoffs. I couldn't do the game justice through my explanation, but we watched a little of what looked like a giant game of Keep Away with a rugby ball and no pads or helmets, scoring by punting through a set of uprights (they may be fit, and their economy way be the only one in the world doing quite well, but until they understand basic safety, they will not be the next Superpower nation...) The rest of the sports page was dedicated equally to tennis, soccer, triathlon, rugby (both kinds - don't ask,) and netball. Participatory sports seem to garner as much attention as the pro leagues, and Andrew described "surf lifesaving" competitions as being both ubiquitous, and a potential professional career, for coastal youths.

Not much to do yet as far as the actual World Triathlon Championships is concerned, as we have no official activities until Thursday. We will spend the next few days swimming and riding, and I am going to test my healing soleus muscle with a short run today.

Coming up next we will explore the odd tendency for Aussies to apply nicknames to almost everything. But it is just after breakie, and I am chockers and waiting for my wettie to dry out. Now where'd I leave my sunnies?

Jeremy

SEPT 5: "Cause I'm leavin'....on a jet plane...

This is Nathanael Singer and myself, right after arriving at our hosts' home.
Bikes are assembled, and the Team USA uniforms seem to fit.
Hopefully, we don't get beat up...
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OK, if you recognize those John Denver lyrics, you're OLD. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Writing the first part of this from seat 59A, Qantas flight Q16, bound for Brisbane in Queensland, Australia. The last days leading up to Thursday's departure were predictably frantic (mostly work stuff, getting team uniforms screened with sponsor's logos, etc.) but I got to L.A. in time to meet with a new client and jump in the ocean for a quick surf. Friday was for gathering bikes that had been shipped to Southern California ahead of time, and picking up my traveling companions, my lifelong friend Nathanael, and my father Jim (both of whom had qualified for the race with me at nationals.)

Nate had a special treat for us before we boarded our flight: an intimidating swim workout at the University of Irvine with the Masters Swim Program, comprised of current and post-university swimmers, water polo players, and a few high-caliber triathletes. I picked the slowest lane available and slogged my way through 2000 meters of fast intervals, relieved to finish the session without barfing in their beautiful pool. We packed ourselves with food and headed to the airport, knowing the combination of workout/food would facilitate sleep on at least part of the 13-hour flight.

I love picking out the athletes on the flight to a big race. Tight-lipped, decked out in national team colors, bottles of water at the ready, and all donning the latest in post-workout/travel technical gear: "compression skins," a sort of support socks that stimulate circulation and prevent blood and lactic acid from pooling in one's major muscle groups. Positively the stupidest-looking thing you could wear on a flight (next to a fanny pack and the socks & sandals combo favored by most traveling Americans.) Imagine my horror as Nate presented me with a brand new pair of such socks. Being the paranoid and gear-obsessed athlete I am, I immediately put them on (under my cowboy boots, so I wouldn't have to make fun of myself.) I also wore no hint of any team paraphernalia, electing instead to anonymously mingle among the rigid Type-A's who were now comparing recent races, dietary theories, and the various colors those revolutionary compression socks come in. I was smug in my incognito boots, jeans, and t-shirt, though my weathered epidermis gave me away as someone who has spent a little too much time outside recently.

How do you lose a day? I mean, I understand the whole date-line thing, but we traveled for 13 hours in the dark, essentially chasing a setting sun, and arrived in Brisbane having completely skipped September 5. Our host, Dr. Andrew Peacock, picked us up at the airport and drove us 90 minutes to Noosa, a ways north of the actual race site city of Gold Coast (My father headed straight to GC to settle into a resort near the race; Nate and I will join him Wednesday.) Andrew, and his wife Sabina, are the perfect hosts for our race trip. He is an emergency room doctor and professional photographer (www.footloosephotography.com) and she is a retired ballerina, and current rock climber and massage therapist. She is a walking physical example of those three skills, and they are both annoyingly fit. We are staying at their sleek, modern home in the beach town of Noosa, and we started the stay with a big breakfast and a swim at Noosa Heads Beach. A little eye-opening, for me, to be back in big swells and rip currents, but the basic survival skills come back quickly as I am swept down the coast. The only really disconcerting thing is the shark nets located about 400 meters off shore. I ask Andrew if they're really necessary, and if they work. His response sounds like he has a vested interest in promoting good tourism...

Just finished putting our bikes together. We are supposed to surf with friends this afternoon. Some of you may be wondering why we are not completely focused on final preparations for the race, our every thought turned towards maximizing performance a week from today. Let me remind you that I was one of the last guys to qualify in my age-group, and that my previous performances at World Championships have netted me a 62nd and 59th place (out of 80 to 100 in my division.) So if meticulous fine-tuning gains me a minute or two, I might move up to...50th? I think the 12,000 mile trip deserves a richer experience than stretching and hydrated in a hotel room in Australia's version of Miami Beach (as Gold Coast is described by our hosts.) I will stretch while picking up waves, and I will hydrate with local brews (at least part of the time.) We'll dial it back the day or two before the race, but I believe that the training really was done two weeks ago (physiologically, you gain nothing in the last 15 days. This message is sponsored by Foster's Lager...)

Besides, dear reader, do you want to read about the latest gadgets, training principles, and pre-race jitters, or do you want the experience of the average athlete getting the most out of one of the "fittest places on earth"?

Forward this to someone you know who likes weird events, kids, and getting the most out of every day; we're a little short of our goal of $10,000 for Youth Homes (I have faith in you, we'll get it,) and I would love to report that we got hundreds of small donations, rather than a few big ones. That being said, a HUGE thank you to those of you who kicked in this week. Despite my description of our extra-curricular activities, I plan on leaving my very soul out on the race course come Saturday. Promise.

Cheers,
Jeremy